


High Steel

by linda92595



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, No incest since John and Dean are not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linda92595/pseuds/linda92595
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam Winchester are two brothers who hunt supernatural creatures while searching for their father. Dean meets and falls in love with a construction worker who ends up getting caught up in their world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Steel

Dean was sitting at a table in the bar waiting for his brother to strike out with the brunette chick he was chatting up. He had to admit that poor Sammy hadn’t been doing too well with the ladies. The last girl he hit on turned out to be a werewolf. He grinned at Sam waggling his eyebrows, and Sam shot him a look.

 

Dean was checking out prospective partners for the horizontal mambo and coming up short. Unlike his staid little brother he had no problems working both sides of the street. It automatically doubled your chances of getting a date any given time. He paused pulling his cell-phone out of his pocket checking for messages from their dad again. Nothing, he was seriously getting pissed off at the man.

 

The door swung open and a group of men walked in. Dean casually checked them out. Grease stained jeans, flannel shirts and steel-toed work boots. Three of the four he passed over immediately, one was sporting a wedding ring, one was ugly and the third was just plain weird. But the fourth guy, now he had promise. He was tall, taller than Dean by about an inch-give or take and nicely built. His dark hair, and two days growth of stubble were shot through with thin threads of silver, but Dean guessed the guy was no more than forty. When he looked over at Dean his warm hazel eyes were smiling. 

 

“Oh yeah,” Dean thought to himself.  Now he just had to find out if the guy played for the home team, or at least, was open-minded.

 

Sliding out of the chair Dean strolled over to the bar beside the guy and leaned in asking the bar tender for another beer, even though the one he had left at the table was half full. The guy shuffled over making room for Dean to sit down, and smiled casually in his direction. Taking a deep breath Dean returned the smile. Holding out a hand he said,

 

“Hi I’m Dean Winchester.”

 

The guy cocked his head, and then shook.

 

“John Lerisse.”

 

Dean blinked.

 

“La Reese is that French or something?”

 

John shrugged.

 

“Hell if I know. So, Dean, you new around here or are you a tourist?”

 

“My brother and I are bounty hunters. We’re actually workin’ a case. You?”

 

Grinning John shook his head.

 

“Naw, nothing that interesting. I’m a steel monkey.”

 

Laughing Dean blinked again.

 

“What?”

 

John swung around on the barstool pointing out of the plate-glass window at the bare bones of a multi-storied building going up next door.

 

“I work high-rise construction, a welder. We’re called…”

 

“Steel monkeys, I get it. I could never do that.”

 

“Oh yeah?” John picked up his beer blowing the foam off the top of the mug. “Why’s that?”

 

Flushing the younger man grinned.

 

 “I got this thing about heights, planes too.”

 

John laughed, and Dean felt a shiver crawl up his spine. The older man cocked his head.

 

“Are you hitting on me?”

 

“Depends…”

 

“On what?”

 

Dean grinned again, laying his hand on the other man’s thigh. John glanced down but didn’t move.

 

“Depends on whether or not you’re gonna punch my lights out if I am.”

 

“Naw, I won’t,” John said taking a swig out of the beer mug.

 

Dean grinned, leaning over close to the other man’s ear.

 

“Good ‘cause I really want to fuck you.”

 

John’s eyes slipped close.

 

“You got a hotel room? Or we could go back to my place.”

 

“Hotel’s clear across town, your place closer?”

 

“Yep, just a couple of blocks away.”

 

John finished off his beer, and rose. Dean stood up behind him, and then touched his shoulder.

 

“I’m just gonna give my brother the car keys. I’ll meet you outside.”

 

Nodding John watched as Dean walked over to another young man, sitting at a table with a pretty girl. The younger man glanced over at John smirking in his direction and took the set of keys his brother pushed into his hand. John clapped his buddy on the shoulder and muttered good night. The three men hooted when they saw Dean walking up to him.

 

John’s place turned out to be a one bedroom apartment in a building that was older, but still clean and well maintained. They took the stairs up to the second floor and John let them in a door mid-way down the hall.

 

The front room was filled with bulky but comfortable furniture, and dark oak tables. In one corner was a dining table still cluttered with breakfast dishes. John sat down on the sofa motioning Dean into a chair and then stripped off his boots. With a sigh he rose and Dean stood up, tugging the older man to him with a sly grin. He leaned up, wrapping his palm around John’s skull and pulling the older man into a kiss.

 

John sighed letting Dean take control of the kiss, opening to the younger man. Dean’s fingers found the buttons on John’s shirt, and then pushed it off his shoulders. John broke the kiss long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head. Dean took the opportunity to shed his own shirt as well.

 

Carrying his clothes in one hand John led Dean down a short hallway to the bedroom. The bed was huge, still rumpled and covered with four or five pillows. Dean cast a glance at the older man, and John shrugged.

 

“I’m a restless sleeper.”

 

He quickly removed his jeans and underpants, toeing off his socks as well. Dean finished stripping and followed the other man to the bed. The mattress gave beneath his knees as he crawled on the bed, and John flopped down beside him. With a smile Dean leaned over the other man’s prone form. John rolled onto one side and tugged open a drawer in the nightstand. Pulling out a box of condoms and a white plastic tube he dropped them on the bed by his side.

 

Dean rolled them both over a little and grabbed the tube. He managed to work the cap up and drip a dollop of the stuff onto John’s hip. The older man flinched a little when the cold gel hit his skin. Dean rubbed the lube briskly between his fingers and John’s leg warming it, then dropped his hand to the older man’s ass. He parted the firm rounded mounds and sank two fingers inside the other man’s body.

 

Pressing forward to deepening the kiss Dean slid one arm around John’s waist. The older man hooked his shin over Dean’s hip pulling their bodies close together. John’s cock painted the younger man’s belly with clear fluid. Dean moaned then slid his cock against John’s thrusting hard.

 

“Do you want to come like this?” he whispered, but John shook his head. He pushed back rocking up onto his hands and knees and Dean moved behind him sliding the condom on. John sighed when he felt Dean’s cock slide between his ass cheeks, then the younger man pushed inside.

 

John grunted as Dean began thrusting hard, reaching around to grab John’s half-hard cock. He pumped the older man to full hardness again then let John thrust into the loose curl of his fist. John came first, shuddering and cursing under his breath. Grinning Dean thrust in hard enough to bump John against the headboard, and shot his load. Panting he lay draped over the older man’s back until he slid out with an audible pop. John laughed.

With a sigh John dropped onto the bed on his belly, not bothering to wipe his own come off. He wallowed around a little and glanced at the other man.

 

“You staying for breakfast?”

 

Dean grinned and fell on his back working one arm under the older man’s shoulders and pulling him into a kiss. John let his eyes drift close. Dean lay awake for a few minutes then slid out of bed reaching down for his cell-phone. The message screen was blank and he hissed out a curse. It was going on six weeks that his father had been missing. He cast a glance back at the bed, and the slumbering form of the man in it. He thought briefly about leaving but he couldn’t go find his father tonight. Sam was back at the hotel and knew how to reach him. He surrendered and slipped back into the bed curling up around the warm body of the older man.

 

 

Sunlight slipped through the half drawn blinds stabbing Dean right in the eye. He jerked rolling over and came in contact with another body. Fighting down panic he recalled that he had met an incredibly good looking construction worker at the bar the night before and was still ensconced in his bed. He felt crusty since they hadn’t bothered taking a shower the before falling asleep, but John’s nice rounded ass was peeking out of the sheets and Dean felt his dick begin to take notice. He leaned over John’s back and grabbed the box of condoms fishing out the last foil packet. John had awakened by this time and was staring at him from under incredibly long, thick lashes. Dean grinned.

 

“You got anywhere you need to be soon?”

 

Shaking his head John slid over onto his back and tugged his growing erection.

 

“Saturday, remember. Even monkeys get the weekend off. You gonna put that thing to good use?”

 

“Unless you want to switch off?” Dean said hesitantly. He rarely liked to bottom, and was grateful when John just shook his head.

 

“Naw, I’m happy catching. You don’t look like you’d enjoy it.”

 

 

After a shared shower Dean picked up his cell phone and punched in Sam’s number. When his little brother answered his voice sounded dry and harsh. There was a moment of snuffling on the line then Sam coughed once.

 

Dean grinned.

 

“Rise and shine, Sammy.”

 

“Dean,” Sam whispered into the phone, then shuffled around on the bed grabbing for the clock on the nightstand. Rubbing a hand over his eyes the younger Winchester sighed.

 

 “Where are you?”

 

“At John’s,” Dean said, as if that information would be any use to his younger sibling. He snickered when he heard Sam muttering under his breath.

 

“The good looking older guy from the bar last night?” Sam asked, and his brother chuckled. “Dean why do you get involved with all these people you know we’re just leaving town in a couple of days anyway.”

 

Sighing Dean watched as John finished dressing. Turning his back he glanced at his watch and said,

 

“I’m going to take John out for breakfast. I’ve been checking for messages from Dad, but nothing. How about you?”

 

He could hear the frustration in his younger brother’s irritated grumbling. Finally Sam replied,

 

“No, I’m getting really worried about him too, Dean. But what can we do we haven’t got a clue where to look.”

 

Dean closed his phone and turned to John with a smile.

 

"You ready to go?"

 

After breakfast John stood in the parking lot of the restaurant with the younger man waiting for his brother to pick him up. Dean smiled at John then motioned to the black Impala coming around the corner of the street.

 

"That's Sam. Can I see you again? I don't know how long we're going to be in town, but I'd like to see you again if you want."

 

Smiling John nodded. "Sure I'll give you my cell number; you know where I live. Give me a call. I usually work early hours, five to three most days."

 

He watched the two young men drive away. With a sigh John walked down the street to his apartment. He had errands to run, and he frowned. It was just his luck to get interested in someone who wasn't going to stay around. Shaking his head he walked through the parking lot to his truck.

 

 

Monday morning came just a little too early for John considering that Dean had spent the night again, leaving just after the alarm had rung. John hurried through his shower and decided to forgo shaving or else he would have noticed the huge purplish hickey that Dean had left on his neck.

 

He got to the site a little late, and was irritated by the gawkers hanging around the front of the fence. John felt like chasing them away, and settled for just shouldering his way through the crowd. Once he was behind the chain link fence, and into the girders themselves John noticed the black and yellow crime scene tape wrapped around the corner of the first floor, and the rust colored stains on the cement footing. He took the lift up to the fourteenth floor where they were working and came across two of his friends. John lifted his chin in the direction of the southwest corner of the building and jerked his head.

 

"What's going on?"

 

Mike Peralta took a deep breath then hooked his cell phone onto his tool belt shrugging.

 

"The cops wouldn't say nothing, but me and Danny heard that Rick Walters did a header off the thirteenth last night."

 

John's eyes widened.

 

"Rick, isn't his wife having a baby? Why would he leave her alone at a time like that?"

 

"Maybe he didn't have a choice," Mike said, shaking his head.

 

John blinked; it didn't seem likely that one of the guys would toss Rick off the building. He was one of the most well liked people in the company.

 

"You know that's the fourth accident that has happened on the thirteenth in the last six months. Something weird is going on."

 

Mike grinned at him.

 

"Johnny, you got an over-active imagination. The only thing going on around here is that you don't have the common decency to cover up the fact that you're getting some when the rest of us ain't."

 

John stuttered to a halt then frowned at the older man.

 

"How the hell did you know…"

 

He paused blushing when Mike slapped his leg laughing.

 

"You walked right into that one besides, your new boyfriend is a practicing cannibal."

 

"What?" John exclaimed until Mike put his fingers under John's chin tilting his head up.

 

"Sure looks like he was chewing on your ass."

 

John jerked his head away blushing again.

 

"That's my neck. I don't have any bite marks on my ass."

 

"Not that we can see anyway."

 

"And you're not going to either," John snorted.

 

Mike cracked up laughing as John disappeared into the recesses of the building heading back to his spot. He fired up the torch and picked up his mask when a movement from deeper in the building caught his eye. Dropping the mask John flipped the torch off and set it on the floor.

 

The light was poor in the tarp covered part of the finished out section of the building, and John had trouble spotting the figure moving in the semi-darkness. But something flashed again and John turned. Cursing under his breath he patted his thigh for the flashlight he usually kept hanging on his belt and looked down when he came up empty. Just as John was about to turn around there was another flash of movement. He jerked his head up trying to locate the intruder, but it seemed as if he could only see the movements from the corner on his eye. He took a hesitant step forward.

 

A shimmering blue-gray light caught John's attention and he walked a few steps further into the darkness. Suddenly a man rose up, coming at John with incredible speed. He tried to side step the figure but a wave of cold air washed over him and John found himself propelled ten feet across the floor to fetch up against a girder. His head hit the beam and John's vision swam.

 

He rolled over trying to rock up onto his hands and knees when the shimmering light enveloped him and John felt a pair of cold hands grasp his neck. He gagged, flailing at the air trying to get a good grasp on the figure's arms. His hands passed through and John felt his head throb as his vision grayed out.  His chest heaved and John sagged against the beam. The figure leaned forward and John tried to cry out. He knew that face.

 

A loud noise caused John to jerk and then the hands at his neck were gone.  He sagged against the floor. Mike Peralta hurried to his side bending down, shaking John's shoulder. John gasped when he realized that he could breathe again and Mike's face swan into his field of vision. John couldn't hear what Mike was saying, but he watched through half-closed eyes as the older man babbled into his radio.

 

 

The paramedics insisted on taking John to the hospital and the other men in the crew watched as the ambulance pulled away from the curb. Mike Peralta was just about to take the lift up to the fourteenth floor when he spotted a young blond kid coming through the crowds. It took him a few minutes to place the guy then he remembered the younger man from the bar. The guy who had picked up John on Friday night.

 

Mike frowned it seemed as if the guy was trouble with a capital T. Even as he thought it he knew it wasn’t fair. There had been accidents before the guy showed up, but since Friday the pace seemed to be stepping up. First Rick had done his swan dive, and now John had had some kind of seizure.

 

Dean picked his way past the fence and spotted the big, heavyset guy that had been with John at Sully’s Place on Friday night. The other man frowned at him when Dean slid to a halt, then offered him a grim smile.

 

“I’m looking for John Lerisse…”

 

Mike glared. “Yeah, I kinda thought you might be, but he ain’t here.”

 

Dean frowned. “He said he usually worked five to three, weekdays. I just wanted to talk to him for a few minutes. Can you call him down? I know that I can’t go up and see him.”

 

“Look…”

 

“Dean Winchester.”

 

Mike nodded, grudgingly shaking the proffered hand.

 

“Dean, we’ve had a kinda rough go at things this morning. One of our guys had an accident here early and then John had some kind of seizure and they took him to the hospital.”

 

“Has he had seizures before?” Dean asked, and Mike cast a sideways glance at him. Finally when Dean was almost sure that the older man wasn’t going to answer Mike took a deep breath.

 

“No.  As far as I know John hadn’t ever had any kind of seizures. The company wouldn’t hire him if he had, too dangerous. He was raving like a lunatic too when the paramedics got there. I think all the accidents were starting to get to him.”

 

Dean cocked his head.

 

“Accidents, what kind of accidents?”

 

“In the past six months we’ve had four guys jump off the thirteenth floor. And now John had this fit.”

 

“You said that John was raving like a lunatic, what’d you mean by that?”

 

“He was talking real crazy, said that he was attacked, thrown against the beam and that he didn’t have a seizure. He said that Pete McCall tried to choke him to death.”

 

“Well, maybe this Pete guy did try to kill John. Maybe he pushed those guys off the building.”

 

Mike frowned again.

 

“Pete McCall was the guy that trained John fifteen years ago. He couldn’t have attacked John or killed anybody.”

 

Dean nodded pulling a small notepad out of his pocket and scribbling down the name.

 

“So this Pete guy, he retired?”

 

“Nope, he’s stone cold dead. Has been for almost seven months now. Got in an argument with a pipe cutter, and ended up with his guts splattered all over the thirteenth floor.”

 

Nodding Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket. Quickly he turned back to the older man.

 

“Uh…do you know what hospital they took John to?”

 

“Mercy General, just few blocks down to the right on Allred Street.”

 

Dean hurried back to the Impala then leaned against the door waiting for his brother to pick up his phone. When the line connected he said without preamble, “Sammy, look up everything that you can find on the death of a construction worker at the Sill Towers site. It was about seven months ago, a guy named Pete McCall. I think we’ve got a haunting. I’m going over the Mercy General Hospital. John was attacked by something this morning.”

Dean hated hospitals, and not just because of the fact that his family had more than a passing acquaintance with the health care systems of a multitude of cities all over the country. Growing up he had spent more than enough time watching his father get patched up after being thrown against a wall somewhere by something supernatural.

 

Now it was he and Sam who ended up in various emergency rooms all over the place. Although the last time that Dean had been in hospital after getting electrocuted while killing a vengeful spirit they had found out, from Bobby Singer, that their father was also in hospital after a nasty brush with a ghoul.

 

Now he was standing in the lobby of Mercy General Hospital staring at the marquee looking for the directions to the nurse’s station. Finally he found the right colored line to follow. Blue for the nurse’s station on the fifth floor.

 

The girl behind the desk was tall, slim and blonde. She was dressed in floral print scrubs and had her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. Dean smiled at her across the desk, and she gave him a suspicious glare then dropped her eyes back to the desk.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Uhmm, yeah my name is Dean Winchester and I’m here to visit John Lerisse. He’s in room 512.”

 

“Family only,” she snapped not even bothering to look up from the magazine she was reading. “We’ve already had several reporters in here this morning, and you don’t look like his brother so buzz off.”

 

Dean snorted.

 

“I’m his domestic partner.”

 

Her head snapped up at that.  She chewed her lip then sighed, rising from the desk and motioning him to the door.

 

“Down the hall fifth door to the left, come on I’ll show you.”

 

John was sitting in bed with a multitude of wires running from his body to various monitors. There was an IV pole beside the head of the bed; a clear fluid of some kind was being fed into his arm. He looked more annoyed than ill and Dean was relieved about that. But when the younger man stepped forward he could see a line of dark purple bruises ringing the other man’s throat.

 

John smiled when Dean came in.

 

“Hey, you didn’t have to come down here.”

 

Dean shot a glance at the nurse in the hall then strode to the bed and tipped John’s head back kissing his mouth briefly. John grinned.

 

 “Was that for my benefit or hers?”

 

“They didn’t want to let me in to see you so I sort of told her I was your domestic partner. I wanted to ask you some questions about what happened.”

 

“Oh, so you just didn’t come down to visit me.”

 

Dean pulled a chair over to the bed and settled down. He took a deep breath and then looked at the monitors again. John shot him a sideways glance blushing when the younger man winked at him.

 

“John, have you ever had a seizure before?”

 

“I didn’t have a seizure,” John said, frowning.  He tugged at the IV line. “This is bullshit. I know what I saw. Look this might sound crazy to you, and I wouldn’t blame you if you just got up and walked out that door, but I saw something weird up there.”

 

“Weird how?”

 

“I swear that I saw Pete McCall, except that he wasn’t like you and me. He was gray looking sort of like a faded photo, and cold. When he put his hands on me he was cold.”

 

Dean nodded. “But Mike at the site says that Pete McCall died seven months ago, John. That it couldn’t have been him.”

 

The other man frowned leaning forward, his voice a dark, smoky growl. “I don’t care. I know what I saw, Dean. If you want to call me crazy, that’s fine, but I think it was Pete’s spirit, or maybe a ghost. My grandma used to say that the dead didn’t always rest easy.”

 

John sat back in the bed folding his arms over his chest as if daring Dean to defy him. Dean chuckled. John’s lips compressed to a thin line, and Dean felt a shiver run down his spine. God, but the man was sexy when he was pissed off. And John was thoroughly pissed off now.

 

“Call me a liar.”

 

“I wouldn’t dare, John. I believe you. I think it was a ghost too, more likely a vengeful spirit. And probably the spirit of Pete McCall. Were you on the crew when Pete was killed?”

 

“Yeah, I was the one who found the body, and called 911,” John grunted.

 

Dean grinned at him, and John looked a little more relaxed.

 

“Why are you so willing to believe me? The doctors think that I had a psychotic episode.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that too. I believe you because I’ve seen things; ghosts, spirits, demons, werewolves. My brother and I travel around the country killing all those kinds of things. Our mother was killed by a demon when we were kids and our Dad is a hunter, a demon hunter. And we were raised to hunt supernatural things too.”

 

John grew silent then looked over at the younger man, and Dean could tell he was weighing what he had just heard against what he knew about the younger man.

 

“God I hope that you’re not crazy. Considering that I spent the weekend having sex with you and I really would like to do it again.”

 

“I’m not crazy, John and neither are you. My brother and I are going to hunt this spirit and lay it to rest. Look I’ve got to go. Is it okay if I come back and see you again a little later?”

 

“Yeah, I’m stuck here until tomorrow at least. Dean, if it is Pete’s spirit, be careful. He was a mean bastard in real life. I can’t see that he’d be any nicer as a ghost.”

 

 

 

Sam was waiting at the front desk when Dean strolled through the wide double doors of the library. Sam had a stack of papers in his hand and a smile on his face. Dean cast a quick glance at the girl behind the desk. She was tall, slender and brunette with luminous brown eyes. He shot Sam a wide grin, and his brother flinched.

 

"So Sammy, how's the research paper coming?" he asked, leaning on the desk on one elbow and toying with the pencils in the cup beside the girl's nameplate.

 

The cheap brass plaque read Missy, and Dean cringed. The girl looked up at Sam and then coolly brushed Dean's hand away from the pencil cup, smiling tightly. Dean narrowed his eyes, uptight, neat freak, should go well with Sammy.

 

"Hi…Missy. I'm Dean, Sammy's older brother," Dean said smoothly.

 

Sam rolled his eyes and the girl looked at Dean as if she couldn't believe that her prospective boyfriend's brother was hitting on her, right in front of him.

 

Sam nudged Dean aside with his hip.

 

"Don't let him get to you Missy. Dean should just be ignored, he's obnoxious at best."

 

"Obnoxious?" Dean hissed grinning. "Don't worry sweetheart. I'm not here to crimp _your_ possibly soon to be boyfriend's style. I was visiting _my_ sort of, hopefully _boyfriend_ at the hospital."

 

"Speaking of which how is John? Was he hurt in the incident?"

 

"Yeah, some bruises and scratches mostly, but they're keeping him in overnight for observation. Apparently an old friend of his got hostile and tried to choke him to death."

 

"Oh that's terrible," Missy cried.

 

Sam nodded shoving the sheaf of papers into his brother's hands. Dean scanned through the pages noting that most of them were Xeroxes of newspaper articles from the archives. Sam was leaning over the desk murmuring to Missy in soft tones. She flushed and nodded.

 

Dean headed to the car parked on the curb in front of the building. Sam caught up with him on the stairs. They rounded the car Sam getting into the passenger seat. Without looking up Dean pulled the car keys out and pushed the papers to his brother through the window. Sam took them and shuffled them into a neat stack. Dean nodded at the papers as he slid behind the wheel.

 

"So, "Sam began before Dean could ask any questions, "This old friend of John's who attacked him, do we have a reason to be interested in him?"

 

"Yeah, the usual…seems that old Pete is what could politely be phrased 'living impaired'," Dean said. He pulled the car out into the street and headed back to their hotel.

 

They picked up food at the drive through window of the burger place down the street and sat at the small round table in the hotel room eating. Shuffling through the pages Sam picked up a copy of an article. He quickly flipped it to his brother.  Dean glanced at the sheet draped figure in the photo. He could tell from the blackish stain fanning out around the body that something had put Pete McCall in a world of hurt.

 

"Look at the blood stain, its pretty extensive," Sam said tapping the xeroxed page. "Do you think that there was enough residual blood to tie the spirit to the building? The incidents began about a month after McCall died."

 

Dean shook his head. "I doubt it. I'll ask John, but I'm pretty sure that they used acid to bleach the stains out. There wouldn't be enough blood left in the cement to keep the spirit bound."

 

Sam sighed. "Then there had to be something else. Maybe Pete didn't have an accident with the pipe cutter, or maybe some of his remains got mixed into the cement footings. If we have to dissect that entire building it's gonna take a long time to lay this ghost to rest."

 

"Yeah, even if we do a salt and burn at the cemetery, unless we can find all the remains we won’t dispel the ghost."

 

Dean fished his cell phone out of his pocket thumbing on the voice-mail. There were no messages in his box and he frowned glancing up at his brother. Sam also checked his phone, but truthfully they both knew that Jake Winchester was still pissed off at his younger son for leaving for college four years earlier and if their father was to leave a message he'd be far more likely to leave it with Dean than Sam.

 

Finally Dean dropped the phone on the table staring at it as if he expected the device to transmit his anger and dismay to their father psychically. Tapping his finger on the table top Dean sighed.

 

"Something's wrong with Dad. He's never gone this long without at least calling me. As soon as we get this done I think we need to go track him down."

 

"Dean, that's almost impossible. You know Dad is as good at covering his tracks as he is at finding other people's. Anyway, we need to deal with the problem at hand. The best thing is for you to go talk to John again. See if he can give you any details on what happened to Pete McCall's body after the accident."

 

 

Mike Peralta was just finishing up wrapping the last section of pipe he was working on with duct tape. It was close to quitting time and all the problems of this morning had most of the men shaken, but Mike was keeping his mind on the job. In fact, he'd been working so hard his hands were aching. He groaned as the tape slipped out of his rapidly tiring fingers and rolled across the floor. With a sigh the big man dropped to his knees and thrust a hand under the tarp searching for the missing roll.

 

His hand brushed up against something cold and Mike jerked away from the tarp. What the hell was on the other side? Pushing up with one hand he grunted his way to his feet walking the length of the finished cement to the bare girders extending another fifty feet or so at the end of the walkway.

 

A flickering movement out of the corner of his eye caused Mike to pull up short. John had mentioned seeing a blue-gray light just before he had his seizure. The big man paused, whatever was on the other side of the tarp made him uneasy. He thought that maybe there was a gas leak; maybe that was what had affected John. The light jumped, floating downward toward the girder, moving in a tight column toward Mike. He stepped back, just as a faint cold breeze brushed the side of his neck.

 

Suddenly Mike was sure that he didn't want to be on the thirteenth floor. He backed-up a few steps then turned and fled to the lift. Slamming a meaty palm against the button he turned, glancing over his shoulder. A figure was standing at the end of the beam, balanced precariously near the edge. He shouted a warning, fear gnawing at his insides. He should go back, go see who was on the beam. Go see who was standing too close to the edge, but he didn't.

 

The door to the lift slid open and Mike slumped inside. When he looked up again the blue-gray figure was running, arms pumping like pistons as it charged the lift. With a half-strangled shriek Mike slammed his hand against the button and the lift doors closed. As the cage fell away Mike sagged against the wall, looking up he could see the light fading to black, and he shuddered. He gasped out a breath, clutching his chest. Mike Peralta was a no-nonsense kind of guy, steady, usually unflappable, but when the doors opened and he spilled out of the lift onto the solid ground of the footings he was crying like a baby.

 

Mike staggered to the parking lot, not even bothering to answer one of the guys who was hollering at him. He made it to his car before he leaned over and puked up his dinner and the four cups of coffee he had guzzled down that day. Mike didn’t even bother with his seatbelt; he slammed the car in gear and headed down the street to the hospital. He had to talk to John Lerisse and maybe his new boyfriend too.

 

 

 

When Dean walked into John's hospital room another man was sitting in the lone chair by the bed. Dean felt an irrational flash of anger that someone else had dared usurp his place at John's bedside then paused. That was not good. He had only known John for a few days. Okay so he had slept with the man all three of those days, but this guy had been John's friend for years. He had right to be there. No way that Dean was jealous.

 

When the big man straddling the chair turned around Dean recognized him as being one of the men who had been at the bar Friday, and the one he had spoken too that morning at the construction site. Mike something or other. The guy looked seriously shaken and John looked upset as well.

 

Dean eased over to the bed and sat down on the corner. John slid over to give him room and he put his hand on the older man's arm, squeezing it gently. John looked up at him.

 

"Mike says that something happened to him at the job site today. Something weird."

 

Dean grinned. "Well, weird is my middle name. Actually it's Jacob after my father, but you get the drift. So Mike, want to tell me what's going on?"

 

"Uhhh, yeah, I know this is gonna sound strange, but I think I saw Pete McCall on the thirteenth floor. He tried to kill me."

 

"I told you I didn't have a seizure," John snapped at Mike and the big man had the good grace to look embarrassed. "So why'd you come down here?"

 

"I wanted to tell you, that and the boss is thinking about canning your ass. He thinks you have some kind of medical problem that you didn't divulge or maybe a drug problem."

 

"That's bullshit," John said. "I've worked for that goddamn company for fifteen years. I've never called in sick, except that one time I broke my arm."

 

"I know, I'll do the best I can to stick up for you, but I think you should talk to the union rep too."

 

Dean sighed. "Come on Mike, what happened?"

 

Mike recounted his story and by the time he was finished Dean looked grim.

 

"That's three incidents in one day. You're right, it is escalating. My brother and I need to get onto that building so we can do some investigating. Mike, do you have a spare key to the padlock on the front gate?"

 

"I got the only key outside of the boss's office. You can use it tonight, but I need it back. I'll meet you at the front gate of the site in the morning."

 

Dean took the key and sat down. Mike bid them both goodnight then slipped quietly out of the room. Looking at the older man Dean leaned back against the pillow stroking John's arm. He bent down, sliding his fingers along John's jaw, scraping at the wind toughened skin beneath the few days stubble. John sighed closing his eyes as Dean kissed him. With a contented grunt John opened his mouth, tongue drawing Dean's out.

 

Dean grinned against John's mouth then slid a hand under the blanket tugging the blue hospital gown up. John was bare beneath it, and Dean's hand found his cock. John was half hard already. The younger man wrapped his fingers around the length of flesh tugging gently.

 

John's long slender fingers found the button on Dean's jeans and he tugged the zipper watching as Dean's cock sprang free of the confining fabric, bobbing toward him. John smiled.

 

"Well, somebody's perky tonight."

 

Closing his eyes John slid over and Dean pressed his hip along the length of the other man's leg. He sat back giving John the freedom of movement he needed to jack Dean's cock. Dean jerked the other man off as quickly as possible. The door to the room was standing wide open and he had forgotten to pull the curtains around the bed.

 

The green light on John's heart monitor was blinking like a broken traffic signal as he neared climax. Suddenly the stress monitor sounded with a shrill buzz and Dean jumped just as John flooded his hand with his seed. Dean place his hand over John's guiding the other man, until John took a deep breath and bent over at the waist, wrapping his lips around the head of Dean's dick. Dean uttered a groan and came in John's mouth. The older man sat up swallowing the milky fluid while Dean hurriedly re-dressed.

 

Dean was sitting in the chair beside the bed when the nurse came to the door. The stress monitor had reset itself after John's pulse and heart rate declined. The nurses came into the room looking at both men. Dean flinched, she was the tall, statuesque woman he had secretly named Brunhilda. She checked John's blood pressure and inspected the monitors quietly and efficiently. Then the nurse noticed that John's skin was covered in a thin sheet of sweat, and his face and neck was flushed.

 

She shot Dean sideways glance and noted that he was flushed and sweaty too.

 

"Everything all right gentlemen?" she asked primly.

 

John nodded.

 

"I trust that there will no further excitement tonight. Visiting hours are up anyway, so you'll have to go."

 

Dean rose and kissed John on the cheek.

 

"I'll be back tomorrow. Sleep well."

 

John smiled.

 

"Yeah, you and your brother take it easy tonight. I wish I could go with you."

 

 

Dean followed Brunhilda back to the desk and disappeared into the elevator. She settled into her chair glancing at the other night nurse on duty. The other nurse nodded in the direction of John's door.

 

"Is 512 okay, why'd his monitors go off like that? Does he need meds?"

 

She smiled.

 

 "Nope, his monitors went off when he went off," At the other woman's confused expression she added, "They had sex.  He looked fine to me."

 

The other nurse grunted. "Honey, I'll tell you who looked fine, it was his boyfriend. Now that's a nice lookin' piece of ass. Should we report it to admin?"

 

"Are you kidding?  Nothing like getting his rocks off to make a man sleep, it'll keep him quiet tonight. I'm going to pull the TV out of 503. I'll be right back."

 

 

 

The air was cold and a thick layer of mist shrouded the chain-link fenced construction site. Dean stood at the foot of the lift staring up, and up, at the dark, ugly skeleton of the massive building. Somewhere up there was the thirteenth floor, as in over one hundred and thirty feet in the air. With a shudder he cast a glance at Sam who wandered up casually swinging a duffle bag over his shoulder. Dean palmed the .45 tucked in the waistband of his jeans letting the cold hard metal calm his nerves. Sam grinned at him and Dean felt like smacking his younger brother a good one.

 

They pulled the metal cage around the car and Sam slapped his hand on the button marked 'up'. They rose gradually, silently, into the night sky. Dean didn’t look down and Sam didn't try making him, until the lift jerked once and halted. Sam slid the cage up with a bang, and Dean winced glaring at the younger man. Sam just shrugged.

 

"Come on, if it's a ghost it already knows we're here anyway."

 

"There is the element of surprise," Dean shot back, Sam snorted.

 

"Yeah, and he has it."

 

They walked side to side and sometimes back to back as they cruised through the finished section of the building to the tarp covered bare girders. Neither one was sure enough of their reflexes to actually traverse the girders. Dean didn’t even want to look at them, and when Sam leaned over putting one foot on the eight inch steel beam Dean jerked him back onto the cement flooring without a word.

 

"John says the pipe cutter stays on this level, and they move the pipes up by hoist. It’s a big bench saw, with clamps to hold the pipe. A guy isn't supposed to be able to get past the blade guard. It's designed to snap back if the blade cuts through the pipe and hits empty air. To keep some body from cutting anything off," Dean said.

 

"Except Pete McCall was disemboweled by the thing, all over the floor."

 

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but John told me that the guys sometimes jam a small piece of pipe into the blade guard to keep it from closing so that they can cut pipe faster. It's illegal as hell. Pete might have done it. What I don't get is that until the weekend I met John there had been three attacks in six months. Then, all of a sudden, we're looking at three attacks in one day."

 

"So," Sam offered, "John is the focal point."

 

"Seems like it."

 

"Maybe John was sleeping with the guys who got killed?  Do you think so?"

 

"Hell no," Dean snapped, a little more intensely than he intended. Sam shot him a cool glance.  "No, I asked him about the guys that got killed. Of the three that happened before we got here, John barely knew two and the third guy creeped him out. But the guy did get written up for feeling John up on the job. Rick Walters was a good friend. John knew his whole family. Same with Mike Peralta, all three of them played football together in high school. They were called the Three Musketeers.  How dorky is that?"

 

Sam grinned. "You're making fun of your injured boyfriend? That's cold hearted, Dean. But maybe McCall saw it as something more. Maybe he was homophobic; thought John was banging the guys, like I said."

 

"Actually, John likes to get banged," Deans aid smugly. Sam winced.

 

"TMI, dude."

 

"But it could be…" Dean paused.

 

Just out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of movement.

 

"We got company, Sammy."

 

The pipe cutter loomed big, a silent giant shape in the darkness. Sam could see the huge clamps jutting out like reaching hands, and the glint of cold metal. The blade itself was huge, with thick serrated teeth ringing the outer edge. There was a flat table where the pipe would be slid into the cutting edge and the blade extended all the way to the edge of the table. Without the blade guard snapping into place it would be easy for a man to lean into the blade if he wasn't careful or the pipe he was cutting slipped.  And if those huge serrated teeth could slide through metal cleanly and neatly they'd have no problem with human flesh.

 

Without thinking Sam reached out and pressed his finger against one of the saw blade's teeth. He hissed watching in fascination as a drop of blood welled on his fingertip dropping to the cement beneath his feet. Dean looked over at his brother, and Sam shrugged.

 

"It's damned sharp," Dean said. "I'm wondering if old Pete might not have leaned into the blade. Maybe someone gave him a hand."

 

Sam cocked his head. "You think John might have pushed Pete into the blade, in retaliation for something?"

 

Dean shook his head. "I don't think John is homicidal. At least I hope not."

 

A soft breeze ruffled Sam's hair and he whirled. At the far end of the cement floor, near the raw girders, a speck of blue-gray light coalesced, collecting itself into a tight column.

As both young men watched, the figure drew energy, rendering the air around them colder and colder as the spirit became more solid.

 

In a few minutes the figure of a man was standing on the beam, he teetered on the edge looking over his shoulder as if expecting one of the two brothers to come out to keep the guy from plunging to his death. Dean smirked.

 

"We already know you're dead Pete, my man, no need in doing your fake suicide act."

 

The spirit cocked his head, a smile curling his lips. Suddenly he rushed Dean and Sam, moving forward far faster than even they had anticipated. Sam uttered a brief cry and flung the duffle bag onto the ground.

 

Tugging the shot gun out of the bag he cocked it and raised the gun leveling the barrel at the fast approaching ghost. Dean stood back giving his brother room to maneuver and kicked the bag out of the way.

 

Sam got off one shot and the salt-filled shells shredded the spirit causing him to flicker out of sight. Dean spun around keeping his back to his brother waiting for his reappearance. He didn't have long to wait. Pete's spirit solidified beside Dean. The spirit's face was twisted in rage.

 

Suddenly Dean found himself propelled back against the pipe cutter. Sam whirled trying to bring the shot gun up for a second shot and a blast of cold air drove him to his knees. He groaned as the shot gun clattered to the ground.

 

Pete turned on Dean, hand clutching at his throat. Dean gasped, trying to jerk away as his head was forced down on the pipe cutting table. Cold air raked over Dean's skin, and he shivered. A dull roar filled his ears and Dean thought he might be losing consciousness until he realized it was the sound of the blade spinning.  Slamming two hands against the edge of the table Dean pushed up. The ghost's hands were tight on his throat and he could feel the heat of the turning blade cutting through the numbing cold of the spirit's partially solidified form. Pete leaned forward lips moving.

 

"You can't have him…"

 

The sound of thunder shattered the night air, and the cold hands grasping Dean's throat faded. He jerked his head up and away from the deadly blade. Sam lowered the shot gun, striding to his brother's side. Dean rubbed his throat and then jerked his chin toward the lift.

 

"Let's get off this building."

 

San nodded collecting his bag, and handing it to his older brother. Dean took the duffle, watching as Sam swung the shot gun up, cradling it in the crook of his elbow. But apparently the ghost was done for the night. They didn't see any sign of him as they took the lift down to the ground floor.

 

Dean leaned against the Impala while Sam stored their things in the trunk. Clapping his brother on the arm he slid into the driver's seat. Sam looked over at Dean not liking the washed-out tint to his complexion. Finally he said, "What did Pete say to you?"

 

Dean rubbed one hand over his mouth.

 

"He said 'You can't have him.'"

 

"Meaning John?" Sam asked.

 

"Yeah, I think so. I think Pete is trying to kill anyone that he felt took up too much of John's time. Two of the dead guys were John's close friends and one of the guys tried to get frisky with him, and got put on report for harassment,” Dean replied.

 

"So what about the other two guys? The first guy about six months ago…Dave Johnson, and the one from last month?"

 

"I don't know Sam. I've got to meet Mike Peralta in the morning, give him his key back. Then I'll go talk to John again."

 

Sam leaned back against the seat, eyes drifting closed.

 

"Let's get back to the hotel. I found an obituary for Pete in the archives. I'll go pay a visit to the funeral director and see if I can find out where Pete was buried. But there's a reason why he's bound to the thirteenth floor."

 

"I'll check with coroner and see if any parts were missing. I'm still betting there are remains somewhere on this building."

Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the county courthouse. The coroner's office was located on the lower level at the back of the building. It was part of the older courthouse that had been built in 1885 and had river rock walls covered in climbing ivy. There was a scent to the air, old and unpleasant, and Dean recognized it as the lingering scent of decomposing bodies. There was no other odor like it.

 

Raking through the assorted badges in the glove compartment he selected one that bore the seal of the Centers for Disease Control, and the name Doctor Jarrod Lester. Picking up his navy suit jacket he shrugged it on then clipped the badge to the lapel. With a sigh Dean crossed the parking lot and let himself in through the ancient wooden doors.

 

The corridor was cramped and dank with faint traces of moss on the walls. Dean wasn't as concerned about the staff calling him on his credentials once he saw the condition of the old building. Security was pretty lax too, he had come in an entrance marked 'personnel only' and so far no one had stopped him.

 

The actual office was at the end of the hall and Dean pushed the door opened stepping into a large rectangular room filled with cold storage vaults at one end and a tiled examination area with metal tables at the other. The body of Rick Walters, or most of it, was on one of the tables half draped in stained sheets. Clean white sheets were folded neatly on a table nearby and Dean knew that once the body was examined and moved to cold storage it would be placed in a black vinyl body bag.

 

A short, balding, middle-aged man was standing beside the table making notes in a chart when Dean stepped up behind him. He cleared his throat and the man flinched. He clapped the chart shut then glared at the younger man.

 

Dean smiled.

 

"Hi I'm Doctor Jerrod Lester from the CDC. I need to ask you a few questions about the decedent and some other cases that you've processed in the past six months."

 

"What does the CDC have to do with this case?"

 

Dean sighed.

 

"Don't you find it just a bit odd that four otherwise healthy men would kill themselves by jumping off a building that they were working on?"

 

The man's eyes widened.

 

"Well now that you mention it…Dr. Lester, I was wondering about that."

 

"Yeah, uh…"

 

"Oh Carl Everett," he said, offering the younger man his hand.

 

Dean shook forcefully, smiling.

 

"So Dr, Everett, you have considered that these cases might be connected?"

 

"Yes, I had considered that. What do you need to know?"

 

Dean lifted the sheet and glanced at the crushed and ruined body of the man he had met just days before. He didn't flinch even though there wasn't much left of Rick Walters' head and shoulders.  He must have hit head first.

 

"Did you notice anything odd about the condition of the bodies other than the impact trauma?"

 

"No, nothing odd at all. Of course, all the pathology reports will take weeks to come in. I didn't see overt evidence of disease."

 

"I've been told that these cases all followed an initial incident at the construction site about seven months ago. A man named Peter McCall, are you familiar with that case."

 

"Yes, I examined the body after the accident. Mr. McCall was bisected at the mid-point of the abdomen. Most of his internal organs were severely damaged."

 

"Were all of the internal organs still in the body?"

 

"Well, with the amount of damage done to the torso it was hard to tell, but I think that a section of large bowel was missing, and perhaps smaller sections of other organs as well. No one produced additional remains though so I can't be sure,” he said quietly.

He frowned at Dean.

 

"So why did the CDC send you here?"

 

Dean shrugged.

 

"Just a precaution. I'm just here to see if there is a possibility that there might be some contaminant at the site that is causing erratic behavior in the workers."

 

"Did you find anything?"

 

"No, Dr. Everett not so far. Thank you you've been very helpful."

 

 

Sam was standing at the doorway of the Elliot Brothers Funeral Home waiting until the crowd moved enough for him to get inside. He was dressed in a suit almost identical to the one that his brother was wearing. He wandered into the foyer looking at the tasteful old oak tables and floral arrangements

 

A small antique writing desk was unobtrusively placed at the far end of the room with a single chair behind it. Seated at the desk was a young woman, probably a few years older than Sam. She was dressed in a simple but expensive suit. The woman looked up and smiled when Sam walked up.

 

"Is there anything that I can do for you?" she asked with a gleam in her eyes.

 

Sam dug into his pocket and fished out an ivory colored business card. The woman took the card glancing at the name emblazoned on the face in elegant script.

 

"I'm Richard Parker from the law offices of Parker and Blazedale. I'm here to ask about the final disposition of an individual that your company prepared for burial."

 

"Oh certainly Mr. Parker…are you the Parker of Parker and Blazedale?"

 

Sam flushed.

 

"Oh no, that would be my father. I just finished law school."

 

"Really, where did you go?" she asked, rising slowly and turning toward an office door just down the corridor.

 

Sam glanced at the rooms they past, noting that one contained a display of caskets and urns. He followed her inside the small office, and she waved him into a chair.

 

"I went to Stanford," Sam said, as she opened a file drawer.

 

"Oh, good school. And the name of the person that you are inquiring about?"

 

"A Peter McCall. He was a construction worker who passed about seven months ago in a tragic accident."

 

She shuddered. "Yes, I remember, my uncle said he had a terrible time trying to prepare Mr. McCall for burial. Just why are you interested, may I ask?"

 

"Certainly, our firm represents Mr. McCall's widow. It seems that their son had him buried without informing his mother. She wants to check on the place of interment and see if it is adequate. Typical family squabble, you understand."

 

"Yes, it's unfortunate but it happens. Here I'll check the cemetery records. We moved the remains from the chapel here to the interment site by hearse. He was buried in Section Three of the Rosehill Memorial Gardens. It's on Highway 33, just south of Rosehill Road.

You shouldn't have any trouble finding it. It's in row twenty-two and the headstone is very unique. Mr. McCall's representative had it engraved with drawings of power tools on it."

 

 

Sam and Dean met at the hotel at noon. Dean was stuffing pizza in his face and drinking beer when his younger brother shoved the door open and threw his jacket on the bed. Dean blinked at him.

 

"Come on, it's still hot. What'd you find out?"

 

"Pete's buried in Rosehill Cemetery Section Three, Row Twenty-two. But the place is on a major freeway so it's going to be a pain in the ass to open the grave and do the salt and burn," Sam said, snagging a slice of pizza out of the box.

 

Dean pushed a six pack over the table and Sam grabbed a bottle, popping the lid off.

 

"We can't do it yet anyway. I talked to the coroner and he said it looked like a section of intestine was missing and maybe some smaller pieces as well. God, I hope they're not in concrete we'll never find them."

 

Sam frowned. "I don't think so. I mean the pipe cutter was on a finished section of cement footing. The concrete would have had to be dry to hold the weight. Maybe they didn't clean out the pipe cutter as well as they should have. Something might still be inside it."

 

Dean nodded. "I'm going over to the hospital to see John, what about you?"

 

"Missy and I are going to a movie tonight."

 

"Hey way to go, Sammy," Dean said grinning.

 

Sam shot him a look.

 

"If John gets out tonight I'll probably go home with him so don't expect me back."

 

Sam rolled his eyes.

 

"Dean you're getting in a little over your head with this guy. Remember that we're going to find Dad and get back on the road."

 

"Sam, John isn’t like the others. I don't know how to explain it. Look you just have a good time okay?"

 

 

John was still in his room when Dean got there. But the doctor had been in to see him and told him he was being released. Brunhilda was checking his vital signs and getting ready to remove the IV when Dean strolled into the room. John smiled at the younger man over the nurse's head, wincing as she pulled the shunt and bandaged his arm.

 

 

They walked out of the main doors of the hospital together. Dean wanted to talk to John about the case but he also wanted to spend time alone with the other man. Dean drove to the construction site and picked up John's truck then followed him to the apartment.

 

John huffed out a breath and shoved the door opened, groaning.

 

"Oh man, it's good to be home. You mind sitting a while so I can grab a quick shower?"

 

"Sure," Dean said and settled on the sofa clicking on the TV.

 

A news program was on but Dean found his attention wandering since John had left the bathroom door open and he could just make out the contours of John's lean body through the clear glass doors of the shower. He grinned, knowing that John had left the door open on purpose and was making quite a show out of lathering and rinsing his body.

 

"Bastard," Dean grumbled loudly.

 

John's deep rumbling laughter sent a shiver down Dean's spine. His attention was completely shot by the time that the water shut off. The older man appeared in the living room wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Dean grinned rising from the sofa.

 

Pulling John into a tight embrace Dean rubbed his hands over the still moist, warm skin of his back. John leaned forward catching Dean's mouth in a kiss. He exhaled in one long sigh then thrust his tongue deep into the younger man's mouth.

 

"You feel well enough for this?" Dean asked drawing back a little. John smiled.

 

"Oh yeah, let's go to bed."

 

John pushed Dean down on the bed and straddled his hips. He slid his hands up the younger man's arms grasping his shoulder forcing him prone on the bed. With a feral grin John reached into the drawer rummaging until he came up with a tube of gel and a plastic strip of condoms. Dean grinned at him when he saw John dump the entire strip on the bed.

 

"Feeling optimistic are you?" Dean drawled.

 

John nodded bending down to kiss him.

 

"Oh yeah, I know you've got it in you…"

 

"Actually, I think I'm gonna have it in you."

 

Laughing John popped the tube open and dripped the gel on Dean's belly. He scraped a dollop up and reached behind himself to stroke the lube over his own entrance. Dean watched entranced by the sight of John's long, slender fingers disappearing into his own body. When he was satisfied that he was stretched and ready John ripped the plastic off the condom with his teeth and rolled it over Dean's cock.  He tugged Dean's dick roughly drawing a hiss out of the younger man, and then grinned again.

 

"Hold on, 'cause I'm gonna ride you like you were Seabiscuit."

 

"Ride 'em cowboy," Dean moaned as John lowered himself down, his cock sliding easily into the older man.

 

 

 

The theater was cold and dark, Sam sank down into the seat. Missy settled into the chair beside him pulling her sweater on. She smiled up at him.

 

"I'm really glad that you and your brother decided to stay in town for a little while longer. Is it exciting being a bounty hunter?"

 

"It can be, but mostly its long hours or research and tracking and a few minutes of terrifying violence."

 

Her face clouded. "I guess that it's dangerous, huh?"

 

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it gets dangerous. Our Dad works in the business too. I can't tell you how many times he's been injured. You can tell everywhere he's had a job from his medical records, all the names of the emergency rooms or hospitals he's been in."

 

They grew silent as the movie started. Missy curled up in the seat, leaning against Sam's arm. He glanced down at her. She was a warm weight in the dark cold air, and it felt good. Since Jessica had been killed almost ten months before and Dean had dragged Sam, kicking and screaming, back into hunting to go look for their father he hadn’t been particularly interested in asking anyone out. Now it felt good to just sit here, with a nice girl by his side and pretend that this afternoon an angry spirit hadn't tried to cut his brother's head off with a pipe saw.

 

Missy glanced up at Sam from under her bangs then shifted so that her hand slid down his arm to his lap. He wriggled around a bit when her fingers worked themselves against the fly of his jeans. Sam jerked, grunting, when she undid his zipper. The sound of the teeth parting sounded like thunder in the dark, still theater. Sam jerked involuntarily, the back of his head connecting with the wooden seatback with a resounding thud. He saw stars for a few minutes, then Missy's slim, warm fingers were inside his jeans and boxers and he saw stars for an entirely different reason.

 

Missy fished Sam's cock out of his jeans and gripped the shaft firmly. He swallowed hard.

 

"Uhh, this is a pretty public place…"

 

"Shhh, Sam. I like it in public it makes me hot," she whispered.

 

Suddenly without warning Missy swooped down and Sam felt his dick enveloped in the wet heat of her mouth. He uttered a short, sharp sound before he could clamp his lips shut. One of the people in the row behind them kicked his seat and Sam panted out an apology.

 

Sam grunted as Missy deep throated the length of cock in her mouth. He wanted to writhe in the seat but he was afraid of attracting too much attention so he clamped one hand of the chair arm, and the other on Missy's shoulder and rode it out. Glancing at the aisle between the seats Sam noted that an elderly man was glaring through the darkness as if he was trying to see just what was going on. Not wanting to get arrested for public indecency, and particularly not wanting to have Dean have to bail him out of jail Sam came in Missy's mouth. She made a little half-angry sound and spit into the floor.

 

"You should have warned me," she hissed.

 

"Me?" Sam gasped incredulously, "You should have at least told me what you were going to do."

 

"I was trying to do something nice for you." she snapped then sighed, "Look I'm sorry okay. It's been a while for me and I'm a little out of practice."

 

She leaned her head against his shoulder whilst Sam got his dick back into his jeans. He didn't bother telling her that she didn't seem so out of practice to him. Sighing Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders and settled back letting the crappy dialogue of the mediocre movie wash over him.

 

It was almost midnight when Sam walked in the hotel. He placed a call to Dean's cell and his brother answered on the first ring. Sam glanced at the clock on the wall. Dean sounded mellow and laid-back, and Sam smiled. John was probably the cause of that.

 

"Hey, come pick me up. We can get out to the building again. Did you get John to borrow Mike Peralta's keys again?"

 

"Yeah, John and I will be over to pick you up in a few minutes."

 

"Dean, I don't think that it's a good idea for John to be involved in this. Pete has already tried to kill him once."

 

"I know that's why we're taking him. John thought this up himself. If he's there it might cause the spirit to focus on John and give us time to search the pipe cutter for remains."

 

 

The building loomed dark and silent in the sky. Dean once again was struck by the sheer height of the thing. He and Sam were carrying shot guns loaded with salt-packed shells. Dean had given John his .45 when the older man assured him that he could use a gun. John unlocked the gate and the three men entered the site.

 

The lift was on the lower floor. And John hit the power switch to turn it on. The engine whined as the motor powered up, then the gate door popped and John shoved the gate aside. Dean and Sam followed the older man inside.

 

The caged rolled up and John stepped out of the lift. He had Dean's .45 tucked in the waistband of his jeans pressed tightly against the small of his back. Dean slid around him cradling one of the shot guns in the crook of his elbow. He waved his younger brother forward and Sam stepped out sweeping an EMF detector around the room. John jerked his head at the device in Sam's hand.

 

"What's that do?" he asked.

 

Sam turned smiling, balancing the shot gun he carried on one arm and sweeping the room with the other.

 

"This is an EMF detector. Spirits have to draw energy from the environment in order to manifest themselves. They have no inherent energy like living things," Sam said quietly.

"They have to pull it out of their surroundings. When they do this it does two things. First, it causes a drop in the temperature as they pull heat energy from around them, second it causes a jump in the background radiation present in the environment and produces an electro-magnetic field. This device picks up those EMFs."

 

John nodded. "So you have ways of finding ghosts when you hunt."

 

Dean took point, motioning John into line behind him, and Sam followed along at the rear. The thirteenth floor was quiet, the tarp covered area of the building shrouded in deep shadows. From his position in line Sam could just barely make out the bulky amorphous shape of the pipe cutter in the deep recesses of the building.

 

Dean faded into the shadow and Sam slipped the EMF detector into his pocket dropping onto one knee. He leaned under the front edge of the table, and pulled a flashlight out of his other pocket. Playing the beam over the saw table he checked the corners for any type of remains. Just as he was about to give up he heard John gasp and jerked back.

 

Dean jumped forward moving next to the older man and John nodded in the direction of the raw girders at the end of the finished section of floor.

 

"I saw something, Dean," he said.

 

There was an edge of fear tainting his voice and Dean grabbed his arm, squeezing gently.  John glanced at him and smiled.

 

"I'm okay. Maybe I should walk over there give your brother some room to work."

 

"Don't go too far. I'll be right here, so keep your head on straight."

 

John sighed. "I'm hunting a ghost, Dean. Until a few days ago I didn't even really believe that they existed. Hell, I guess that Granny-dear wasn't as crazy as everybody said."

 

Still he flashed a quick grin and Dean felt his stomach tightening. He watched as John walked hesitantly across the room, and then paused to look back over his shoulder. The look he gave the younger man sent a shiver coursing down Dean's spine, and he knew in an instant that John wasn't just the latest player in his game of fuck and run. John meant so much more than that, and wasn't that a bitch?

 

When Pete manifested himself it was so quick that Dean couldn't even get a breath drawn to call out to John. One minute the older man was standing in the center of the room and the next he was hurled across the floor toward the unfinished section of the wall. Dean gasped.

 

John rolled to his knees and caught sight of the blue-gray figure of the man he had known so long. Pete had been a friend, at least in John's mind, and he didn't understand why the older man seemed to hate him so.

 

"Pete," John said quietly and the ghost turned. "What's wrong buddy? What'd I do to you that made you so pissed?"

 

Pete swung around glaring at John moving forward with lightening speed.

 

"You always had all their attention, didn't you John. You had all those men looking at you, some of 'em you even fucked. I know it…Rick, Mike, Danny all of 'em you couldn't get enough. You whore."

 

John's eyes were wide.

 

"Shit, are you crazy, Pete? I didn't sleep with any of those guys. You knew Rick loved Penny, and Mike Peralta would clean my clock if I came on to him. God, they were my friends nothing more."

 

From behind the gray figure John could see Sam working under the bench, could see Dean stalking forward looking very much like a lion hunting its prey. John flicked his gaze downward keeping his attention off the younger man, keeping the apparition focused on John alone.

 

"I saw you with Danny Weaver, John…you can't lie about that one. I saw you with your hands on him, and him touching you."

 

John's face paled; he flinched.

 

"Danny was a mistake, Pete. He and his wife were having trouble; it was just that one time."

 

Just as Dean made it across the room the ghost whirled, sneering.  He knocked John off his feet and slammed Dean across the room. He thudded against the wall with a low groan, but managed to stagger to his feet. John pulled the .45 firing once at the spirit, but the bullet passed through ineffectively and ricocheted off the girder striking the pipe cutting saw mid-blade. Sam uttered an outraged squawk and yelled.

 

"John, for god's sake don't shoot at it. Let Dean take it out with the shot gun. You’ll end up hitting one of us."

 

John dropped the handgun on the floor scouring the room for the shot gun Dean had dropped, but the younger man was already there. He raised the gun and smiled grimly.

 

"Pete old buddy, over here."

 

The shot gun blast made John cringe but the spirit dissipated at once and John staggered across the floor to Dean.

 

"Why'd it go when you shot at it and not me?"

 

"Rock salt in the shells," Dean said and John cocked his head. Before he could ask the younger man added. "Salt is pure, it was used as an antiseptic, and preservative. It makes spirits, demons and other ectoplasmic bad guys go batshit. They can't cross it, and it makes them dissolve. But it’s only temporary."

 

As if to prove that point Pete's spirit reappeared knocking John aside and thrusting both hands into Dean's chest. He screamed in pain. John rolled over the ground, scrambling to his knees when the shot gun roared again. But Dean was too close and Pete flung him headfirst to the outer edge of the floor. Dean rolled and the shot gun skittered across the cement dropping off the edge of the building.

 

The ghost wavered then reappeared beside Dean grabbing the younger man by the jacket. He shoved and Dean slid a few inches toward the edge of the floor, one hand dangling over. John jumped to his feet rushing the ghost. But Pete merely turned, throwing one hand into the air, and John found himself slammed against the concrete wall, thumping to the ground with a dull thud. He didn't move.

 

The ghost turned back to Dean grabbing his jacket and swinging him into the air. His feet dangled above the floor for a few seconds. The cold night air swirled around his legs, and Dean made and grab for the girder.

 

Suddenly he dropped. Dean's breath whooshed out of him in one long silent scream but his feet hit the metal of the girder and he bounced forward, rolling back onto the cement floor. Sam was standing beside the pipe saw with something dark and withered in his hand.

 

Suddenly he dropped the desiccated piece of flesh onto the floor and dumped the contents of one of the shot gun shells over it, flipping the plastic casing back with his thumb. The salt glittered in the dim light, and then Dean saw the flare of a match.

 

Pete's spirit writhed and shrieked as the missing piece of his remains was destroyed. Dean staggered to his brother watching as the section of rotted flesh crackled and burned. Sam nodded to the still form lying beside the wall.

 

"Get John on his feet, we still have to get to the cemetery," he said, as he began collecting their things. Dean hurried to John's side kneeling down. The older man was just coming around, and Dean pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket dabbing at the blood trickling down his face.

 

John moaned sitting up, and Dean slid a hand under his armpit hoisting him up.

 

"Looks like you caught a bolt down the cheek. It might leave a scar. I don't want you going home alone. Pete's no longer bound to this floor. We burned the remains left in the pipe saw. But we've got to finish the job out at the cemetery. Do you think you can make it?"

 

John nodded. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

They drove the Impala to Rosehill Cemetery, The tall, ornate, wrought iron gates were closed and wrapped in chain, but Sam picked the lock with no trouble. Dean pulled the heavy links of metal through the gates and John pulled the Impala into the grounds waiting while Sam and Dean pushed the gates closed, draping the chain to make it appear that the gates were still locked.

 

Dean slid into the shot gun seat and John nervously put the car in gear driving forward slowly because the headlights were off. The cemetery was not actually on a hill despite its name. In fact, the lower parts of the grounds were deep in the bowl of an extinct volcano sloping downward toward the freeway.  Sam was relieved to see that the lower rows of graves were shielded from sight and they would probably not be spotted opening the grave, at least not by drivers passing by on the interstate.

 

John pulled the old Chevy around a turn in the road and they passed a marker proclaiming this to be Section Three of the cemetery. Dean motioned for him to pull over to the curb leaving the car half concealed in low hanging willow boughs.

 

Sam hopped out of the car and Dean took the keys from John sliding out the door. The older man sat behind the wheel looking out at the murky darkness enveloping the black, blocky forms of the granite markers. He swallowed hard and watched as Dean and Sam busied themselves getting their equipment out of the trunk. Dean appeared at the driver's side door carrying a shot gun and a shovel. Sam came around the car also bearing a gun and a pick with a duffle bag over one shoulder. He balanced the pick against his leg then looked at John.

 

Dean leaned over the side of the car glancing at John through the windows, he slapped the side of the car and John cringed. Taking a deep breath John finally slid out of the car taking the duffle bag from Sam and throwing it over one shoulder. Dean slid the shot gun into the straps of the bag, and the three set out across the dew soaked grass. John glanced at Dean from under his lashes, face going red.

 

"I suppose that this is not a good time to tell you I have a 'thing' about graveyards."

 

Dean smiled at him. "Oh come on, John. There's nothing to be afraid of…"

 

John blinked. "Dean, I've got two words for you…Pete McCall. I mean in spite of the fact that he's dead, he's tried to kill me twice. And he almost threw you off a fourteen story building."

 

"That's just part of the job. We won't let him get you John. It's almost over."

 

"Yeah, but did I mention the whole being dead thing?" John sighed trudging along behind. "You don't think anything else out there might be up and moving?"

 

Dean shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe a couple of zombies or a ghoul."

 

"Oh this just keeps getting better and better," John groaned, sliding close to the younger man's side.

 

Dean smiled and wrapped his free arm around the other man's waist pulling him close.

 

Sam smacked his brother on the back of the head.

 

"He's just messing with you, John. We haven't heard about anything being in the cemetery. Don't let him get to you."

 

 

Pete's grave was in the middle of row twenty-two at the lower end of the shallow lip of the bowl. Sam frowned, the cemetery was ugly, the blocky markers, the dry crunch of the grass and the sloping uneven ground. He wondered why they had put the cemetery at his location other than the fact that the property was too ugly for any other use. In spite of the well manicured landscaping the over all feel of the place was one of despair, of the end of lives that hadn’t really mattered and were not long mourned. He felt sorry for the people cast off in this place, and wondered why more of them didn't come back, bitter and angry.

 

It was cold when Dean swung the pick and cut the first raw gash in the hard earth of Pete's, soon to be, final resting place. He shivered, wondering briefly if the temperature drop was natural or if Pete was making his presence known.

 

Sam stood at the foot of the grave shot gun cradled in his arms looking at the bleak landscape. Cocking his head the younger Winchester watched the silent pathways looking for the spirit. John was also standing guard at the head of the grave watching in silent contemplation as Dean worked quickly and methodically opening the grave.  He had the EMF detector in his hand and glanced down at it although the meter remained unchanged, the needle hovering just over the first incremental lines above zero. John hoped that was good.

 

The cemetery remained still and quiet until Dean's shovel hit something. There was the dull thud of metal on wood, and the device in John's hands went crazy. The needle jumped and John whirled.

 

"Guys, something's happening," he managed to murmur before the air went frigid around them.

 

Sam jerked the shot gun up drawing a bead on the spot just to John's left, and the older man wondered if he could see something that neither he nor Dean could. He was just about to ask when cold hands grasped his arm slamming him to the ground. Dean looked up as John hit the dirt and Sam fired the shot gun.

 

The blast dissipated the spirit before he had a chance to hurt the older man, and John rolled. He came up off the ground with a glint of anger in his eyes. Sam frowned, John might not have been a hunter before but he was rapidly getting caught up in it, and Dean was doing everything he could to encourage the other man. Sam didn't have to be psychic to see where this was going. His brother was in love with John and Sam was sure that he intended to ask the other man to come with them when they left. He hoped that Dean wouldn't take it too hard when John didn't want to leave.

 

The wind rattled the underbrush near by and John clambered to his feet, thrusting the EMF detector out in one hand. The needle dipped to zero then trembled. John turned to the younger men.

 

"Pete's still here, over there somewhere."

 

Nodding Sam loaded two more shells into the shot gun and clicked the chamber closed. They could both hear the sound of shattering wood as Dean drove the shovel into the casket, and raked away the lid. The wind jumped from the underbrush to the trees then a cold breeze swept the grave.

 

Without warning John found himself slammed off his feet. His body actually levitated a few feet into the air, hovering just above Pete's grave, before he was propelled across the ground and onto a nearby grave. He scrambled to his hands and knees spitting dirt and blood onto the grass.

 

Sam took a few steps forward waiting patiently until the ghost manifested itself then let go with both barrels of the shot gun. The salt ripped the spirit to shreds and the air grew still. Dean was up and out of the grave in minutes. Bending down he scooped up a canister of rock salt and scattered the glittering crystals over the corpse. Tossing the empty canister onto the ground he doused the body with lighter fluid and flicked a match into the grave.

 

Sam jumped back watching as the flames climbed to the lip of the hole. Dean dropped the lighter fluid back into the duffle bag and hurried over to where John lay in the dew dampened grass.

 

He slid down leaning over the older man checking for injuries. But John just grinned up at him.  The older man's eyes were glittering and his cheeks were flushed. Dean smiled swooping down for a kiss. John worked his fingers into the short strands of hair on the back of Dean's neck devouring the younger man's mouth. Sliding his hand down John's belly he cupped John's groin. Dean lifted an eyebrow when he felt the hard length of flesh digging into his palm. John blushed.

 

"What can I say, I find your line of work very…stimulating?" John snickered.

 

Dean grinned and rolled on top of him, pushing his knees between John's thighs. He made a move as if to tug the zipper open on John's jeans, but the older man clasped Dean's fingers in his large, warm palm.

 

"Uh un…" he hissed around Dean's tongue. Dean pulled back and John shrugged. "I'm lying on someone's grave. If something reached up and grabbed me I'd die of a heart attack, and then you'd feel guilty about killing me for the rest of your life. Besides your brother is watching and he looks pissed."

 

"He's just mad that he isn't getting any tonight."

 

"Good, for a minute I was worried that you both might want to gang bang me."

 

"Now that you've effectively killed the mood forever." Dean hauled himself to his feet and hoisted John up. "We've got to fill the grave and get the hell out of here before the cops show up."

 

 

 

"So is it always like that?" John asked as he sipped at the cup of coffee in his hand.

 

 The three of them were sitting in a diner, unwinding before calling it a night. Sam was absorbed in his own thoughts but Dean thought he could smell trouble brewing in that direction. John hadn't stopped talking since they had piled into the Impala and cut out of the cemetery. Dean grinned at John’s shaking hands.  He looked strung out and he supposed that adrenaline was as effective a drug as anything synthetic. He intended to take Sam to the hotel, then take John home and then just take advantage of all that excess energy the older man had buzzing just under his skin. He was practically crawling out of his clothes with it.

 

The apartment was dark, and the door was just barely closed behind them when John jumped him in the living room. Dean's shirt was off in a second and John was working on his jeans before he could even think to reciprocate. They bumped together, hands tangling then Dean finally got John's pants down. He tripped and staggered a little falling on the thick carpet, taking John down with him.

 

Rolling quickly John ended up on top of the younger man face buried between his thighs. Dean cried out when John's teeth grazed the overly sensitive skin on his dick. Then John moved and his hard cocked bobbed in front of Dean's face and he reached out with one hand. Dean wrapped his fingers around the shaft drawing John's cock to his lips. John swallowed Dean down with practiced ease and Dean's eyes rolled closed. He wanted to shout, wanted to say something to warn the other man, then he was coming, shooting down John's throat, and John didn't even stop his relentless sucking. Dean dug his fingers into John's hips and sucked John's cock into his throat, John's body quivered as of he was fighting, holding back, wanting to make this last, but Dean slid one hand between John's cheeks and pushed two spit slicked fingers inside him. He twisted once, digging to find the other man's prostate and John thrust once into Dean's mouth and came.

 

They lay side by side on the carpet, pants down around their ankles too exhausted to move. Dean finally managed to toe his boots off and shed his jeans. But John wasn't moving, he swatted the other man's ass.

 

"Come one let's get a shower and go to bed."

 

"That would require moving…" John groaned.

 

Dean swatted his ass again, and the older man shot him a look.

 

"You can't sleep in the floor."

 

"Just watch me," John said grunting, but he did roll to his knees and tug his boots off leaving them tangled in his jeans. He stripped off his ruined t-shirt and followed Dean into the bathroom. Dean grinned at him.

 

"I'll make it worth your while," he said, wagging his eyebrows. John just rolled his eyes.

 

"I couldn't get it up again if you had a gun to my head."

 

Dean smirked. "Actually, after tonight John, I think having a gun to your head would make you get it up."

 

 

 

Sam lay on the bed in their hotel room, though for all the time that Dean had spent in it he night have just said his hotel room. Picking up his cell phone he flicked through his contact list and punched in his father's number. The phone rang and the voicemail clicked on…

 

"This is Jake Winchester; if this is an emergency contact my son Dean at 785-555-0179."

 

"Dad, I really need to talk to you. Please call me back. Dean and I are worried, please Dad…"

 

He lay back exhausted beyond belief. His fiancée was dead, his father was MIA and his brother was in love with a construction worker. When had Sam's life spiraled out of control? He laughed bitterly, that was the thing wasn't it? When had Sam's life ever been in control, really?

 

 

John walked into the downtown offices of McKinley and Harrison, the construction firm that he had worked at for fifteen years. He had never gotten along with George McKinley, the man who was his 'boss' although Mike Peralta ran the crew. John had been annoyed about that since the first day Mike had gotten the job. John should have been crew chief and everyone, including Mike, knew it. John had worked for his father since high school, only taken a job with an outside firm after his father's death. Even then he had had more experience at twenty-five than most of the other men on the crew.

 

McKinley looked up from his desk when the bigger man walked in. His lips twisted into something might have been a smile, if John was feeling charitable. Too bad he wasn't. He dropped into the chair that his boss waved at and sat stiffly waiting.

 

McKinley didn't take long to get to the point.

 

"John, after the events of a few days ago we're letting you go."

 

John face darkened.

 

"I don't understand, Mr. McKinley. What have I done? I was injured on the job site…"

 

"You had a seizure on the job site. You didn't tell us you we're epileptic when we hired you. You know it's against company policy; it's just too dangerous to have a man prone to seizures on a multi-storied project."

 

John snorted.

 

"I'm not prone to seizures. And I'm not epileptic. I've worked for this company for fifteen years and that's never happened before. I've been out on sick leave a grand total of three days in fifteen years and that was for a broken arm. I worked in a cast, and you didn't have a problem with it. Why now?"

 

"There is the matter of the psychotic episode, as well. The hospital report suggests that you may have had a nervous breakdown."

 

"I didn't have any goddamn nervous breakdown. I got upset; maybe I just got spooked okay."

 

"And there is the matter of the young man that has been hanging around the site asking after you and in the hospital. You know that I prefer that my workers keep their private lives private."

 

"What? When Jerry Parker was banging your secretary they didn't do so good a job at keeping it private. Dean was on the site for one day maybe fifteen minutes the day I went to the hospital. He's hardly been making a nuisance of himself.  If I was straight and Dean was some blonde bimbo," John paused seeing the younger man's smarmy, come-on grin in his mind, "Okay bad comparison…if Dean was some hot chick with nice tits you'd be singing a different tune."

 

McKinley's face twisted in anger.

 

"John this has nothing to do with your preference for companionship, I can't have someone who babbles about 'seeing dead people' and then has a fit all over the floor on a multi-storied building. Look, I'll give you a month's severance and a good reference, but that's it."

 

 

Dean's Impala was sitting at the curb outside his apartment building and John could see the two Winchester brother's sitting on the front steps of the building. He pulled his truck into his parking spot then sat there for a few minutes. His stomach clenched, and he dropped his head on the steering wheel. First he was fired and now Dean shows up to dump him, just freakin' great. Way to go, Johnny, he thought.

 

With a sigh John booted the door to the truck open and slid out. Dean was grinning and it made John's stomach clench again. Nice to know your, sort of, lover could kiss you off with a smile on his lips. But John supposed he wasn't being fair. Dean didn't know that John had gotten fired, and he had never made John feel that this was anything but a casual affair. John went into it knowing that the younger men were heading out as soon as they finished their job. Squaring his shoulders he decided to take it like a man.

 

Sam greeted John then rose from the step, glancing over at his older brother.

 

"I'm going to walk down the street a little ways a see if I can get Dad on the phone. Bye John."

 

"Yeah, bye Sam," John said dropping down onto the stair.

 

Dean slid closer leaning in for a kiss. John was more reticent about public displays of affection, but he accepted the quick kiss with good grace.

 

"So you and your brother are heading out? Any chance you'll be coming back this way again?"

 

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I know you have roots here, a real job and friends, but I love you, John. What we do is dangerous and unpredictable but I…"

 

"I know, you don't owe me any explanations, Dean. You never said that you were hanging around."

 

"John, please. I want you to come with us."

 

The older man leaned back blinking.

 

"What? You mean do the ghost hunting thing with you and your brother. I don't know anything about it."

 

"I can teach you. You've already been on your first hunt. That's the hardest one. I've left a lot of people…"

 

"Oh yeah, how many?" John asked with a grimace. Dean flinched and the older man laughed. 

 

"Anyway, I've left some people behind and I don't want to leave you. Please John come with us."

 

"Okay," John said. He thought about George McKinley's pasty face, and dark sneer. He wasn't losing anything. "What do I need to do?"

 

"Just dump everything you can't live without in your truck and follow me."

 

"Where?” John asked, hauling himself to his feet. Dean smiled that hell-bent grin and John felt his knees go weak.

 

"Wherever, Dude."

 

He jumped to his feet still not sure he believed that John really meant it. He followed the other man to his apartment and watched as he began tossing his clothes into a large duffle bag. John looked over at him and Dean slid behind the other man kissing his neck.

 

"You and me and Sam, John. It was meant to be."


End file.
